hide, hide, i have burned your bridges
by ninjaextraordinaire
Summary: <html><head></head>skye-centric. skye/ward, but not really. pre-2x01. "She's never been in the service of catering to a traitor's desires, and she refuses to start now."</html>


**A/N**: This was originally intended to be the first segment of a mega-massive-ultra FitzSkye one-shot, but that idea has been sitting in my drafts for months, and it's just never gonna get done, so I decided to just post this increment since it was the only one I had fully written. Ugh, still, it's so short and not developed at all and vague and_ I'm sorry._ Story title comes from the song "Gun" by CHVRCHES.

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><p><strong>hide, hide, i have burned your bridges<strong>

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><p>The first time Skye sees Grant Ward post-incarceration and post-fractured larynx, she decides that it's truly unfair how Agent May's the only member of their team that can say she made him rethink what it means to be in agony. Given that Skye has a tendency to act before her brain can fully catch up, there's a bullet in Ward's shoulder before she can tell her thumb to switch off the safety on the sidearm she keeps on her at all times.<p>

Surprised at herself or not, she refuses to let it show and levels Ward with an apprehensive glare.

If Coulson wants to give this duplicitous asshat a chance to learn who he is outside of Garrett's warped sense of guidance while simultaneously allowing him to stay on base in order to use his knowledge of Hydra for the good of rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D., then fine; she has no say in the matter. But it doesn't mean she has to like it.

Immediately, blood begins to seep through his shirt, turning the black into a soppy, glossy patch of material. Ward, to his credit, doesn't give any indication that he's just been shot save for the hitch in his breathing and the tight clench of his jaw. It's admirable, she thinks, his determination to obscure the pain that courses through him while simultaneously ignoring the voice that's indubitably at the forefront of his mind, telling him to fight back.

She wonders if it sounds like Garrett.

Her lip curls in disgust, then, remembering the heinous demands he was too quick to obey.

He's looking right at her, with the same brown eyes that used to make her heart cave in on itself a bit, but now, all she can think of is those same eyes watching in apathy as Fitz and Simmons plummet to the depths of the ocean. She knows he was telling the truth about his feelings for her, felt it in the reverent way he held her as they kissed and the almost shy manner in which he'd run his thumb over her knuckles when he took her hand in his. Even now, she can see the affection that swims in his gaze, right alongside the apology and understanding, and she wills herself to disregard it. She's never been in the service of catering to a traitor's desires, and she _refuses_ to start now. Or _ever_, for that matter.

Eventually, the thundering sound of her own pulse in her ears fades enough so that she can hear the gasp and the light, hurried approach she quickly discerns as belonging to Simmons. Slowly, the biochemist comes into Skye's line of sight, coercing her to meet her eyes as she gently extricates the Beretta from her grip, handing it to someone behind them.

Skye blinks, looking around and registering the fact that while she was busy showcasing her perfected hate-face in Ward's direction, the team had gathered around them. Trip and May are both flanked on opposite ends of the room, pistols trained on Ward, and Coulson is standing against the far wall on her left, arms crossed over his chest, surveying her with a look she can only describe as veiled worry. Her gun is in his hand, and instantly, the paralyzing fear of what the consequences of shooting Ward will be seize her, but Coulson's not making a move to detain her or remove her from base, so she thinks she's in the clear.

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes, and when they open, they narrow at the sight of Simmons tugging off her cardigan and pressing it to Ward's shoulder in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood. The visual of a scumbag like him receiving medical care at the hands of one of the people he consciously tried to murder makes her sick, and her fingers twitch, thinking that Ward would look a lot less nausea-inducing with another bullet in his thigh.

Apparently sensing this, Simmons takes Ward's own hand and places it over where hers just was, instructing him to hold the cardigan to his injury as tightly as his pain will allow. He nods once, unable to meet the biochemist's eyes, and she turns and faces Skye once more. Her eyes are assuring, but Skye has seen that look before in her own reflection, and she knows that underneath the offered comfort, there's a fire lurking that has everything to do with being in close proximity to the person that earned her unbounded trust only to betray it in a way that none of them are sure is forgivable.

Despite her anger reaching the same caliber as everyone else's, Simmons is a professional, and Skye understands that saving lives with the knowledge she obtains trumps kicking Ward in the balls, but still, she hopes Simmons "accidentally" forgets where she placed the antiseptic when she patches him up.

"I'm sure I will."

Skye falters, realizing that the last part of her inner monologue might not have been as inner as she believed it to be, and she nods at Simmons, a hint of a smirk pulling at her lips. Over her head, Ward is looking at her, awaiting her next move, but he's not the only one. In this precise moment, the rest of the team is at her back, and if there was ever any doubt before, there sure as hell isn't now.

This team is more than just five people she's forced to cohabit with for their united quest against the forces of evil that threaten mankind, it's her _family_.

Thanks to him, one of those five people was compromised. That person is not in the lab with Simmons where he should be, not-so-subtly hinting about how beneficial a monkey would be as he moves things around on the holographic table, teasing her every once in a while about those holographic engineering classes she knows she'll never take. Instead, Fitz is lying in a bed, breathing through the help of machines that he could probably take apart and rebuild in under three minutes.

Skye meets Ward's eyes. "If you're wondering why, it was for Fitz, and it's nowhere _near_ the retribution he deserves."

She walks away then, but not before she sees his gaze fall to the floor, the hand that's holding Simmons' canary yellow cardigan to his shoulder tightening imperceptibly around the fabric.


End file.
